Photo by Joe Grant © 2020

I am older perhaps
than I should be,
for my callouses have turned supple,
and ambition has already evaporated.

What remains then
in this ebbing,
but to review the exposed runnels
of years and tears,
softly-shaped in receding, sandy impermanence.

And what’s left,
but to pay my dues of attention
to the tiniest details
and littlest lives that grace this twilight time.

Even as their tracks
disappear in the diminishing day,
still do I cherish
modest accomplishments,
which, like scattered seashells,
I leave abandoned on the boundless shore.

Unbidden aches and twinges
have come to companion
my expanding list of losses,
with daily reminders of the cost of loving,

as the stark winter sunset
sets the timeless ocean aflame,
to console me with the sweet foresight
that a fresh tide approaches with the new day,
for other eyes to see.

By Joe Grant © 2020

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